


Tree Rings

by Lemon_Boy_Kaden



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Fluff and Angst, Former Gang AU, Galra Empire, Gang AU, Heavy Angst, Keith (Voltron) is a big sap, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Langst, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Slightly graphic descriptions of violence, The Galra are a gang, everyone has a bad time, im sorry, mostly angst, shklance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 23:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_Boy_Kaden/pseuds/Lemon_Boy_Kaden
Summary: Shiro and Keith find a man passed out and frozen on their doorstep, taking him in and getting so much more than they bargained for.





	Tree Rings

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, I'm sorry in advanced

Lance stumbled pathetically through the snow, his feet, face and hands numb. His shoes had soaked through long ago, the cold wind had blown throw his thin jacket and onto his face. His hands had been shoved in his pockets in an attempt to stay warm but it had been futile. His jeans were soaked up to his knees. And yet he wasn't shivering. He could no longer feel the cold. He was tired and he knew that he needed shelter soon or hypothermia would set in entirely. But he had nowhere to go. In the eyes of his employer he'd deserted. He'd surely be killed for it if he were found. The only reassurance he had currently was the hand gun in his jacket pocket, his only means of defence.  
He came out of the forest, looking around himself, whining and trying to decide if he should find some way to stay warm in the forest, or risk the open field ahead of him. He scanned the area, finding sight hard since his eyelashes had small ice crystals coating them. He spotted a small house to his far left, and nearly sobbed in relief. He walked towards it, unsure if he'd make it. He hadn't eaten since the previous day and he'd been running and walking through thick snow since early that morning. He had no idea what time it was but if the sun was telling him anything it was about five in the afternoon. So he wasn't exactly full of energy.  
Regardless he made it to the door, collapsing to his knees and knocking on the door as hard as he could with his numb hand. He prayed someone had heard him, and that they wouldn't end up finding his frozen body instead in the morning. His vision swam and darkness crept in, fizzing around the edges of his vision. He felt suddenly queasy as the door opened, and he was out cold, completely limp.  
The man who'd opened the door looked down and looked horrified. He gently picked up the boy in front of him, bringing him in and shutting the door. He was horrified by how light and how eerily cold he was. The only hint of life left in his body was his chest slowly rising and falling shallowly.  
"Keith!" He yelled loudly, laying the stranger on the couch, worry evident in his face. "Keith!" He yelled again, more urgent now. "Get blankets and firewood ASAP!" He called as the other resident finally answered. The first man went to the fireplace, and coaxed the low flames to burn higher, and hotter.  
"What's going on Shiro-" Keith asked confusedly, cut off by his surprise as he saw the body on the couch. "What happened? Is he alive?" He asked urgently.  
"I don't know, I found him on the doorstep, I think that was the knocking sound," Shiro said, standing from beside the fire. "He's deathly cold, we gotta help him," he said worriedly, grabbing one of the ice cold hands. His fingertips were turning blue.  
"Got it.......he needs to get out of those clothes, they're soaked," Keith said softly, looking at Shiro, who nodded. Both were reluctant to undress an unconscious stranger, but on the other hand he needed to get warmer and fast. The wet clothes were sapping what little warmth he had.

They had wrapped the stranger in many blankets, changing his wet jeans and freezing shirt and jacket for a pair of Keith's sweat pants, and one of Shiro's sweaters. Both garments were loose and too big for him, but it was warm. They had also gotten some tea, which was on standby for when he woke on the stove.  
"Wonder where he's from?" Keith asked quietly, watching the motionless figure.  
"No idea. I wonder if he's running from something," Shiro replied.  
"I hope we aren't harbouring a murderer,"  
"Doubt it. He passed out just after I opened the door and he seemed scared," Shiro mused, sipping his own tea as he leaned against the kitchen counter.  
"Wait, I think he's waking up!"  
Lance woke to two voices, and feeling much warmer than before. He opened his voice with a hoarse groan, which prompted him to shoot up and start coughing wildly. Tears welled in his eyes as he covered his mouth and panted, catching his breath. He pulled his arm back, confused by the fact that his sleeve was a deep blue and not the green of the jacket he'd been wearing. He looked around to find someone kneeling next to him, holding a mug of something hot, steam rising from it.  
"You alright?" The man asked, his white hair pushed back from his face by a pair of glasses. A large scar spanned his face, over the bridge of his nose and he had kind eyes. Lance nodded hesitantly, taking the cup that was offered to him, frowning.  
"I'm Takashi Shirogane, just call me Shiro. That's Keith over there," he said, gesturing at another person on the couch. This one had longer black hair, tied up in a ponytail, and a scar trailing up from his jaw onto his cheek. They both looked worried. They let him take a sip of the tea, and waited as he tried to gather his bearings.  
"'m Lance," he croaked, his voice extremely rough. They frowned as he winced, talking obviously hurting him.  
"Don't worry about talking right now, just rest. You've obviously been through a lot," Shiro said, standing again and going to the kitchen.  
Silence hung over the for some time as Lance slowly drank the tea, his throat starting to calm. He took in his surroundings, part of him sad knowing that he would have to leave the warmth and comfort of the home soon.  
"We're sorry about your clothes. They were completely soaked, so we needed to change them," Keith said finally, his face red. "We put them in the washing machine, should be done soon,"  
"You were out for hours," Shiro added from the kitchen. Lance could smell something cooking and his stomach acted accordingly, growling and making its emptiness known. Lance whimpered and curled around his stomach as the hunger started to hurt. It hurt so violently that Lance felt queasy.  
He didn't even notice that Keith had run over and was trying to ask him what was wrong, until he placed a hand on his shoulder. Lance whimpered and willed the pain to pass. It took several minutes but eventually Lance relaxed, his grip on his stomach releasing. Keith and Shiro looked terrified even as Lance waved them off. His stomach growled again, louder this time and they exchanged a look.  
"When did you last eat?" Shiro asked, frowning.  
"Yesterday," Lance rasped.

Keith and Shiro spent a while convincing Lance to eat, relieved when he finally did. He'd protested, saying he'd leave once his clothes were dry and get out of their hair. He said he didn't want to intrude and take their food. They'd both kept at it until he agreed, after another bout of extreme pain ripped through him, prompting him to finally agree. The warm food was welcomed, and he looked a lot better after he actually ate. After that he was having trouble staying awake, and fell asleep once their cat had settled onto his stomach. They moved Lance into the guest room, pulling blankets over him and letting the cat resettle on his chest, purring and kneading his stomach happily.  
The two of them went to their own room and settled into bed, waiting for two very tense minutes before Keith spoke up.  
"He's running from something," he blurted, looking at Shiro as he anxiously twisted his wedding band.  
"I know. I just wish we knew what," Shiro sighed, frowning at Keith's worried face illuminated by the soft yellow light of their lamp.  
"We need to help him,"  
"We will baby, we just need to understand what's going on," Shiro soothed, running a hand through Keith's now loose hair. They kept talking, worried for the young man in their guest room. They agreed on a final plan, and finally turned the light off an hour later. Both were anxious about what was going on, and why he'd been in such a hurry. Why hadn't he brought a car? Or food, or even a proper jacket and shoes? Why did he seem so shaken?

They got their answers the following morning, when they'd found a nearly hysterical Lance sobbing in the guest bedroom. The cat had been practically screaming at them and pacing late that morning until Keith followed her. He'd been lead to Lance, curled up under the bed and hyperventilating. Their cat plopped herself beside Lance, licking his face gently, knowing how to comfort him since she'd learned from Shiro's own panic attacks. Keith called for Shiro, waiting for a response before sliding under the bed as well, foot outstretched so Shiro would see it. He coaxed Lance out, used to calming Shiro down from panicking as well. It took ten minutes before he slid back out, Lance held in his arms. Shiro was quick to pick Lance up, and gently set him on the bed, helping Keith up.  
They situated themselves on either side of Lance, who was now breathing properly again, but still visibly shaking.  
"Lance what happened?" Shiro crooned. They both asked a couple questions before Lance calmed enough to answer them.  
"I had a dream.......they found me, and you guys, I need to go before they find me," he sobbed, tears long dried up but clearly still terrified.  
"You're alright, we're fine," Shiro said softly, rubbing his back gently as Lance nodded.  
"Who's they?" Keith asked softly, moving so Lance was looking him in the eye. There was a long pause before they got an answer.  
"The Galra," he whispered. "They're a gang, I used to work for them and I.....I just can't do it anymore," he whimpered. Keith and Shiro shared a look. They'd used to work for them together, and had escaped together. They knew all too well the horrors Lance had likely encountered, but neither could fathom trying to survive and escape alone.  
"I'm sorry, I know it's terrible. I had no choice. My family was starving. I had to," he said, tears running down his face again. They rushed to comfort him, reassuring him that they understood. Keith was the first to pull up his sleeve, revealing the Galran symbol tattooed on his bicep.  
"Trust me, we get it," he said, as Lance looked up, hope in his eyes. Shiro pulled the collar of his shirt down, revealing the same insignia on the right side of his chest.  
"We were like you once," Shiro added.  
There had been a lot more tears from all three as they spent hours sharing stories, and by the time they were done Lance had relaxed a lot, and become more talkative. They suggested he stay while they were hot on his trail, and after a long debate he agreed to think on it.  
Lance never officially agreed to live with them permanently until three years later. They'd grown close and Shiro and Keith had both fallen hard for Lance, especially once he'd started to open up and become more of who they figured he was before the Galra. He balanced them all out perfectly, and they were happy. They could forget their jaded past, and just be. Lance eventually got a job, needing the time outside the house. He worked as a cashier and baker in the small family owned bakery in the village an hour away, while Shiro ghost wrote and Keith did art.  
On one winter evening, three years since the night Lance had stumbled onto their doorstep, Keith and Shiro took Lance to dinner in town, nothing fancy. It was just the pizza place Lance liked, a family restaurant. Except they knew it wouldn't just be regular dinner.  
While law dictated that Lance couldn't legally be their husband, they wanted him to at least have the title. They proposed to him and he had said yes immediately, crying and hugging them both tightly.  
They had him written into their will, and property deed, and dealt with every other legal facet until he was as close to being their husband as possible without actually being their husband. The only ceremony they had was popping open a bottle of champagne, and binge watching Disney movies before going to bed, and spending the night together. And for them it was perfect.

Lance had been at work when it happened, blissfully unaware. He'd come home to a door open, and their house trashed. He'd run inside, phone already out and ready to call emergency services. His first thought was to grab the small pistol he knew they kept in the shoe closet, before calling for his husbands. There was no answer.  
He checked the guest bedroom on his way to their room, seeing nothing but a trashed room. He kept walking, on edge as he kept calling out for Shiro and Keith. The door to their bedroom was ajar, and when he pushed it open the scene in front of him was horrifying. It was disgusting and straight out of his worst nightmare.  
Shiro and Keith in bed, still. Their chests didn't move, they didn't smile up at him as he came in. There were gunshot wounds in their heads, and beside the bed was a furry, unmoving heap with blood staining the floor around it. Much like the bed was bathed in blood from Shiro and Keith. They were pale and cold, a horrifying image that erased itself from Lance's mind as soon as he left the room. His mind blocked out the goriest details, trying desperately to protect himself from the image and failing. He called emergency services, surprisingly calm. The paramedics came to confirm the death, as police investigated. The paramedics checked on Lance as well, finding that he was in complete shock. He hadn't registered they were gone yet, even asking the paramedics if they'd be okay.  
His employers were contacted and he stayed with them, since he'd basically become family, while the police investigated and eventually cleaned up the crime scene. It only sunk in for Lance when he went back to the house, one wedding band on his hand, and two around his neck on a small necklace chain. He came back and the house was empty. He went to the main bedroom and frowned at the heavy smell of bleach, before seeing the bloodstains on the bare mattress.  
He broke. He couldn't take it. He clutched the rings around his throat and sobbed. He crawled under the bed in the guest bedroom, panicking and sobbing for well over three hours. He was alone. It was his fault. He'd done this. He caused this. They had been happier and safer without him. He should've left. They'd still be alive if he was. All of a sudden every single gory detail came back to him, and he couldn't take it.  
He got up and walked out of the room. He went into their shared room and grabbing several garments that still smelled like their respective colognes and bundled up. It was winter again, and he was running away once more. Five years after stumbling onto the doorstep he now stood on, bundled in clothes that weren't his own, rings around his neck on a delicate chain. He walked out in the direction he had once come from, the direction he had come in after first spotting the house.

The bakery owners had sent out as many missing person fliers as possible, had pasted Lance's face across town and the city next door. The police had gotten involved but nobody could find Lance. They gave up, after a state wide search had been conducted. No body was found, no living person fitting Lance's description was found, only a single golden ring, and two more on a necklace chain on a tree stump. He was pronounced dead, and given up on, though nobody ever found out for sure what happened. Whether he met an early grave or suffered with the knowledge that he had cause his husbands deaths.


End file.
